The Wonder: Chapter 10
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.
Mid-July, Same Day – Still at Castle's New Private Investigator's Office
"You are the primary suspect?" Richard Castle asks her.
"Yes," Serena Kaye tells him, as she takes a seat in the oversized leather chair that sits in front of his large desk. Castle, for his part, continues sitting on the edge of the desk, forcing himself not to gaze at the long legs, now exposed, as the insurance investigator crosses her legs, settling back in the chair. The red dress now hangs roughly five or so inches above her knees. She smiles, as she is well aware of the effect she is having, and she is just as impressed that Castle is working – quite successfully – at ignoring her little game.
She enjoyed playing with him during their previous case – well over a year and a half ago – and truth be told, she has been looking forward to continuing their harmless games . . . a little fun to go along with the very serious work she knows it is going to take to clear her name.
"So, tell me about your case, and how you think I might be able to help, Serena," he says, quickly back to business.
"Oh, Richard, you're no fun today," she comments, with a bit of a pout. He cannot help the laughter that follows, and she joins in.
"Sorry. It's been an interesting couple of months," he smiles, noting this to be a dramatic understatement.
"Oh really?" she says. She had heard that Castle and Detective Beckett had finally ceased their silly arms-length dance and had become an item. The fact that Castle had just recently acquired his private investigator license seemed kind of a natural evolution, in her mind. She had noted his instincts for solving problems during that prior case. His thinking was truly unique. It hasn't occurred to her that this evolution of his has coincided with a split between the two.
"Tell me about it," she says, her smile sparkling and her interest truly genuine. She really likes this man – not in a 'gosh I have to have him kind of way', but more in a 'this is a very interesting man' manner.
"Nothing much to say," he states with little emotion, trying desperately to move the conversation away from his personal life and on to her case. It's his fault, he knows, for bringing it up. It doesn't work.
"We've gone from 'an interesting couple of months' to 'nothing much to say' in the span of less than twenty seconds, Mr. Castle," she says, playfully. "You can't expect me to just let that drop."
"I can hope," he tells her, still sitting, and running a hand through his hair, a slight smile appearing – purely as a defensive move. He wants no part of this conversation and is chiding himself for encouraging it with his off-hand remark. He also knows enough about Serena from their brief interaction before that she likely isn't going to let this go. Further, he knows that part of him being able to move on requires him to also being able to talk about things. So he talks.
"You remember Detective Beckett," he says, and before she can respond, corrects himself. "Of course you do, stupid question," and both find themselves chuckling.
"She and I started dating about a year ago, and we got pretty close. She left a couple of months ago, to take a job in D.C. with the Feds."
"And?" Serena asks, eyebrows raised, clearly surprised.
"And . . . that's it," he says, as if that explains everything.
Serena stares up at him from her seated position, her eyes taking in his posture, his expressions, everything about him. Clearly, there is much more to the story. But Serena Kaye is no stranger to heartache and troubled splits, and more than anything else, she sees the pain that he tries to hide, and mercifully gives him the out he needs.
"You know what, Richard, I'm going to give you a pass," she says, and sees the visible relief on Castle's face, before continuing, "for now."
Castle nods, with a small smile. "Thank you, I will take that pass," and both smile. "Now, you didn't come here to talk about my personal life . . ."
"No, I didn't," she says, uncrossing her legs and standing. She stares at Castle for a few seconds before moving away, back toward the large Lassen picture hanging on the wall.
"The Rock of God, a recently discovered painting widely accepted to be one of the lost pieces of Leonardo DaVinci, was donated to the Metropolitan Museum of Art last week," she begins, still admiring the Lassen piece. "The piece was supposed to go on display tomorrow, but was stolen two days ago. The police were obviously called in to investigate, and the insurance company assigned me to the case as well. Since the piece was not yet on display, and since the public had not been made aware of the donation and subsequent promotions, the police suspect this to be an inside job."
She pauses, placing her hand on the protective glass, running it along one of the bridges in the painting. "This truly is magnificent," she says idly, almost to herself. Suddenly, she turns and faces Castle, who remains seated on the corner of his desk.
"Long story short, the investigation turned up evidence that the thief used methodology very familiar to the specialists who were brought in to investigate. Methods similar to what are suspected to be methods that I have used in the past during my so-called accused years 'retrieving' art," she tells him. "Well, one thing led to another, and before I know it, I am off the case, and now somewhat the suspect, according to the police. I'm not under arrest, but have been declared a person of interest and told not to leave the city."
"So-called?" he comments, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, smirking.
"That's what you took out of all of this?" she asks, being seeing his smirk turn into a bonafide smile, and relaxing.
Richard Castle nods – still smiling – but internally he is replaying aspects of their previous case together. He knows she definitely has the skills, the tools, and the know-how to pull off pretty much any heist she wants on the art front. He also suspects, from what he remembers, that she could easily deflect the attention elsewhere, if she so chose. Yet evidently, the attention for this crime is firmly on her shoulders. Still, he needs to be thorough, and knows the questions must be asked.
"I have to ask the question, Serena."
"I would be disappointed, and realize I have come to the wrong place if you didn't, Richard."
He smiles at her understanding, noting it to be a nice change of pace from what he is accustomed to. Dismissing such thoughts, he continues.
"Did you take it?"
"No."
He pauses, with a half-smile, waiting for her explanation. When none comes, he is a bit confused, pressing for more information.
"No? That's it?"
"Yes, that's it. I don't know how to explain the word 'no'."
He is somewhat confused, until he thinks back to his very first case with one Katherine Beckett. There had been a copycat murderer, who was copying scenes from his previous books. In that case, the real murderer was deflecting the attention to someone else. He smiles at fate's irony, wondering if it will repeat itself with his first real case, on his own.
"On my own," he smiles to himself. Unfortunately, she catches this, too.
"What is it?" she asks him.
"Nothing. Nothing, Serena. Just thinking about how things come full circle, sometimes," he explains.
That first case with Beckett comes to his mind now, however, because of what Serena has said, and the first lesson Kate Beckett had taught him. Serena simply answered his question with a simple 'no', and felt no need to explain further. He recalls Kate's words on that first case – innocent people don't have elaborate alibis already prepared. They don't need them.
The fact that Serena does not come to him with a carefully-prepared, believable alibi, the idea that she comes to him only with a simple 'no' answers his question. She didn't do it - which is great news, because he doesn't want to have to turn this woman in.
"So if you didn't take it, who do you suspect did?" he asks her, now moving on to the next logical question in his mind. She is – after all – an investigator. If she has already turned up any information, any clues, then it would be good to be in the know on those little matters.
"I honestly have no clue," she replies, and immediately notes the skepticism on his face. "It's the truth, Rick. If I had all the answers, I wouldn't be here sitting in your office."
"I'm not asking if you have all the answers, Serena. I'm wondering why you don't at least have some of them," he responds – and notes the acknowledgement in her eyes. "You're an investigator, and from what I remember of the last time we worked together – more or less – you were a damn good one. You saw a number of things we didn't catch. So yeah, I am surprised you don't have anything at all to share with me."
She stands in front of his painting on the wall, turning her back on him to continue admiring the work.
"Serena – let me tell you something," he tells her, and his forceful tone draws her head back toward him. She finds herself staring into surprisingly piercing eyes.
"I've been married twice, and divorced twice. Both times my wife has walked out." Serena Kaye's eyes widen every so subtly, as she tries – unsuccessfully – to submerge her surprised expression. Noting that he has her attention, Castle continues.
"I have had a wife cheat on me, and my most recent relationship ended when the woman I thought loved me decided to opt for a job out-of-town, without so much as saying 'boo' to me about it. And she never even gave the slightest inclination – as she moved away – that she wanted me to join her," he says, his eyes growing smaller, the anger just beneath the surface.
"So all I ask – no, scratch that, I insist that whatever working relationship you and I formulate here be based on honesty, and trust," he says softly. "I have had my fill of lies, dishonesty and mistruths to last the rest of my life. I won't walk into anything else again – be it a relationship, a partnership, a case – under false or suspicious pretenses. Trust is kind of important to me, right now. So I will ask you again – what are you not telling me?"
Serena takes a step backwards, defensively from the force of Castle's words, but quickly recovers and begins to walk towards him. Her thoughts return to her decision – just yesterday – to engage Richard Castle in her dilemma. She knows that he – more than anyone else – can probably help her, simply because he is the one person she believes will trust her enough. So it is important that he do just that – trust her.
"Richard," she begins, speaking softly but firmly. "I don't know what you want – or expect – me to tell you. And I am not going to lie to you and tell you that you already know everything about me. You probably will never know everything about me. But there are some things about this case that I haven't figured out yet. And until I do, allow me to have a few . . . secrets."
She holds her hands out, palms up, in acquiescence – hoping it will be enough. She needs him to find out what really happened, to prove her innocence.
"Get out," he says quietly, with no emotion. No malice, no disappointment. It's disarming to her, not what she expected, and she is once again surprised by this man.
"Richard, wait –"
"No. I am not waiting. I am not waiting for yet another person to decide when they will grace me with the truth. I am not waiting for another person to decide when they will play with me on a level playing field. I am tired of secrets. I've held secrets myself, and it eats at you. I don't need them, and I don't need this."
He walks to the door and opens it, stepping out of the doorway. He looks back at Serena, and holds her gaze, his eyes giving away none of the inner turmoil eating at him at this moment. Serena watches him, considering her options. She has told him the truth. There are things she hasn't figured out yet. And he isn't the only one with trust issues stemming from past relationships. As much as she wants to, she cannot bring herself to open all of her theories up to him just yet. Not until she is sure – or at least much surer about things than she is now.
Sadly, she drops something on his desk, and she walks toward the door, reaching him in a few steps. She stops and slowly places her hand on his cheek. She feels him ever so slightly recoil, and she sighs.
"Yeah," she thinks to herself. "He's hurting, he's damaged. Like me."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Castle," she says, more formally now. "I had hoped . . ."
She lets the thought drift as she removes her hand, and walks out the door. She hears the door click, closing behind her as she walks toward the elevator.
Inside Castle's office, the writer-turned-private investigator angrily drops his large frame into the chair behind his desk. He silently fumes, angry at himself and at the woman who has just left his office. He knows that secrets are a part of everyone's lives. Hell, he has his own secrets that even his daughter and mother don't know about, and he is closer to no one else on earth. Who is he judge her? Who is he to hold her to a higher expectation simply because of Kate.
And Meredith. And Gina.
His head falls back into the large upper portion of his chair, as his eyes take in the ceiling above, feeling almost certain that he has made a mistake sending the insurance investigator away.
For a few minutes he tries to clear his head, before finally giving in to the second thoughts he is now having. Serena has come to him in need, choosing him. And her logic for selecting him, a novice private investigator rings true. He knows her, he has trusted and defended her in the past, and he had helped her recover the missing piece – which, he knows, ended up paying her a tidy sum of money. It makes sense that she would come to him now. She has good reasons to trust him.
His first potential case, and he throws the client out.
"Nice start," he says aloud, sarcastically, sighing angrily as he grabs his keys. A walk to the deli around the corner will do him some good. Get some fresh air, a sandwich, clear his head, and try and reach out to Serena. Except he has no idea where she lives, or how to get in contact with her. Suddenly, his mind replays their conversation, and his eyes fall to the corner of his desk. Yeah, she had dropped her business card there before leaving. He thought he had seen her put something on his desk. That makes sense.
He grabs the card and glances at it quickly, noting her phone number. There is no address, not that he expected one. A woman like Serena probably does not want people just dropping in on her – and he can't blame her for that. He will grab a quick bite to eat, and then give her a call. Give him a chance to cool off, and give her a chance to hopefully be in a more forgiving mood than she likely is at this moment.
It all sounds good right now. He locks the door behind him and turns toward the elevator when he sees her.
Serena Kaye lies, deathly still, slumped against the elevator door. Castle rushes toward her, immediately feeling for a pulse, and grateful to find one. He quickly checks her face, the back of her head, feeling for the telltale sign of blunt force. Finding none, he begins to assess her hands and arms when he finds it. There is a small trickle of blood drying on her arm, which is exposed by her sleeveless dress. Looking closer, he finds the small hole indicating the puncture mark from the needle.
He glances around quickly, ensuring they are alone, and then picks her up, cradling her in both arms as he carries her back to his office. He stops at the door to his office, and fumbles inside his pants pocket for the keys, struggling not to drop the drugged and unconscious woman. Finally finding the keys, he unlocks the door, and steps back inside, kicking the door closed behind them as he walks to the sofa and gently lays Serena down.
He quickly considers his options. She could have gone to the police with her concerns, instead of him, but there is a reason she did not. He suspects that Serena would prefer to keep any and all authorities out of this. That much he suspects.
But whatever is now coursing through her veins, whatever it is that has knocked her out – he has no idea what it is. It could be something simple, or something quite dangerous. That much he knows.
He decides that what he knows outweighs what he suspects, and picks up his cell phone, and dials 911.
"Forgive me, Serena," he says softly, aloud. "Your safety is most important right now."